


Accident

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [190]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 20:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14143476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Sam Worthington/Ryan Kwanten storyline in the BDSM RPS RPGCitadel.





	Accident

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Sam Worthington/Ryan Kwanten storyline in the BDSM RPS RPG [Citadel](http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read).

Sherry waves everyone away, pointing at her phone as she listens to the line ring. Finally it picks up and she breathes a small sigh of relief. "Ryan?"

"...Yes?" Ryan props his phone between ear and shoulder and carefully turns the chunks of beef browning in the skillet. He didn't recognize the number on the display and so mentally he's already hanging up. "Can I help you?"

"It's Sherry. Sam had an accident. He's okay but we're at the hospital," she says, waving more people away. Can't they see she's on the flipping phone?

The spatula drops with a clatter and Ryan swiftly steps back to avoid being spattered with bubbling hot oil. "He's...? What happened?" he demands, and he's already in motion, wiping his hands on a tea towel and yanking open kitchen drawers in search of a pen and paper. "What hospital are you at?"

"He cut his leg open jumping through a window," Sherry explains, giving Ryan the name and basic directions to the hospital. "You're coming now?"

"Yes, yes," Ryan answers, scribbling frantically on a take-away menu for their new favorite Greek restaurant. "You've got all his insurance info and everything -- I guess the studio has to process the claim -- whatever, yeah, I'm leaving now." He hangs up without another word and dashes upstairs to find some shoes he can yank on. He's already out the door and into the garage where their rental SUV is waiting when he suddenly realizes that he left the burner on. " _Fuck_ ," he snarls, running back into the kitchen to turn off the stove. _Cut his leg open jumping through a window_ runs through his head on endless repeat as he peals out of their long driveway to the road. Through a window? Just a cut on his leg? Ryan hopes that means that Sam didn't fall on his head or anything. He grips the steering wheel tightly and tries to focus on navigating.

Sam's got his head back and his eyes closed and he's breathing slowly but deeply. It's not like he hasn't injured himself on set before but this, this is pretty impressive. Still, he's damned if he's letting anyone know how he's starting to feel a little faint, the room spinning any time he opens his eyes, so he's just going to lie here and pretend everything is fine by him. Or at least that's his plan until he hears Sherry giving the nurses grief. "Hey," he calls to her, hoping to distract. "Did you get Ryan?"

"He's on his way," she says and goes right back to giving orders.

Christ. Sam'll have to get Ryan to make it up to the nurses when he gets here. For right now, he's just gonna go back to his deep breathing, eyes closed, and there's no fucking way he's looking at his leg.

Ryan is snarling curses under his breath by the time he stomps into the ER. He made two wrong turns trying to reach the hospital, and then he couldn't find a fucking parking spot within half a mile. Seconds are ticking by loudly in his head, and the anger simmering on the surface is really just a thin shell over roiling panic. Sam's hurt. _His_ Sam. Ryan's world is suddenly a much scarier place.

"No, I'm not a family member," he tells the man at the information desk once more, rubbing a hand over his forehead in exasperation. "I'm his employee. I work for him. I'm his first emergency contact, so they called me and told me to come here," he says, attempting - again - to explain.

"Look, I'm sorry, man," the unit secretary tells him, again. "I can't give you any information on our patients. I can't even tell you if he _is_ a patient here. And if he was, I couldn't tell you what room he's in. Do you get that? It's a federal law, dude, I'm not trying to be an asshole."

"No, I... I know you're not trying to be," Ryan mutters, struggling to keep his shit together. "But he _is_ a patient here, and..." he trails off and dials Sherry's number once more, hoping he'll actually get through this time so she can sort this mess out and he can get to his lover's side, where he desperately needs to be.

"Yes?" Sherry answers, almost growling the word. "Would you get him some water? New water. That pitcher's dirty," she tells the new nurse.

"Hey, it's Ryan," he says, hoping she can hear him above all the noise in the background wherever she is. "I'm in the front lobby. They won't let me back because I'm not a family member -- can you send someone to come and get me?"

"I'll be right out," Sherry tells him with a loud sigh, shaking her head as she hangs up. "That's Ryan. I have to go get him from the front," she tells Sam.

Sam just nods, his eyes shut tight. Ryan's here though. Thank god. He's not sure he's ever heard sweeter words but the fact is they're going to have to fucking pretend in front of everyone here that Ryan's just his P.A. and Sam's not really sure how fucking good he's going to be at pretending right now.

Once Sherry appears in the lobby, things finally get moving. She gets Ryan around the security protocol in a matter of moments, probably because she just came right from Sam's room anyway. Ryan nods his thanks to the unit secretary as they pass - hey, he's trying to be polite - and keeps his voice low, for Sherry alone, as they wait for the elevator.

"How bad is it, really?"

"It's a pretty nasty cut," Sherry tells him. "Long and fairly deep, but they've got the bleeding under control and we're just waiting on this special plastic surgeon the studio's flying in."

Ryan presses his lips together in a tight frown. "Is he in pain? Is there any muscle or tendon damage? How long will his recovery be?" Even as he peppers Sherry with questions, he's well aware that she's not the best person to answer them. But he's working hard to keep control of his panic.

"I don't have any idea," Sherry says, stepping onto the elevator and pressing the button for the third floor. "But they gave him some percocet for the pain and he's been awfully quiet."

Sam? Quiet? _Fuck_. Ryan shoves his hands into his pockets and leans back against the wall. He wants to thank Sherry for calling him with the news, but figures that might sound weird; she called him in his 'professional capacity', which she of course doesn't know is downright unprofessional. He needs to keep his cool. The lift doors slide open on the third floor and he's instantly on the balls of his feet, ready to sprint to his lover.

"He's in 308," Sherry says. "Go ahead if you want and I'll check in with the nurses' station. Find out when someone's going to come and talk to us."

"Okay." In seconds Ryan is standing in the doorway of Sam's private room, his eyes drinking in every detail of his lover, lying so still in the hospital bed under the harsh fluorescent lights. "Hey," he says, entering the room and checking every corner to make sure they're alone before he drags a chair up to Sam's bedside. The urge to reach out is as overwhelming as it's ever been, so Ryan clasps his hands between his knees in a tight knot. "How are you?"

Sam slowly opens his eyes. "I've been better," he says, smiling weakly at his lover, wishing they could just go the fuck home. "How are you?"

"Me? Totally fine." Hell, Ryan is a complete fucking mess at the moment, but he figures Sam doesn't need to know that. "Are you in pain? Sherry said they gave you something."

Sam nods. "Percocet," he says, holding his hand out to Ryan. "Still hurts like a bitch."

Reaching out, Ryan lets his fingertips graze over his lover's. But then he draws back. "What happened? Sherry said something about a window?"

"Fight scene with Mr. Wallace," Sam murmurs, the words taking a surprising amount of effort. "Window didn't break like it was supposed to."

"Jesus, Sam," Ryan breathes, dragging a hand through his hair. He knows his lover always insists on doing his own stunts. Which, honestly, Ryan usually respects. Just not today. "Did they say they're going to come in and sew you up? Did they do an x-ray already?"

Sam nods. "They're bringing in some specialist," he says with a bit of chuckle. "Cosmetic surgery guy."

"Yeah? Can they do something about your face while they're at it?" Ryan teases. God, it takes everything he has not to touch Sam right now, caress him. 

Sam laughs. "I hate hospitals," he says. "I just want to go home. Crawl into bed with you."

Ryan's breath catches. Apparently those painkillers the nurse gave Sam have a real kick to them. "Yeah," he whispers, "me too. But, um." He glances at the door to make sure they don't have any eavesdroppers just now. "Let's keep that to ourselves, okay?"

"No one's listening," Sam says, gesturing sloppily at the empty room. "No one cares."

"No one cares about what?" Sherry asks, coming back in.

"About whether he's got a stunt double or not," Ryan lies, shooting Sam a warning look. "He can have just as much artistic integrity without risking his limbs. Right?" He glances at Sherry for confirmation.

"Definitely," Sherry says with a laugh. "Brian would actually be happier if you used a stunt double. No losing days with his leading man." She smiles at them both. "The cosmetics guy should be soon. He just landed at the airfield and there's a driver bringing him in. Anything I can get either of you? Ryan?"

"Um. Just some water, please?" he asks her, then turns his attention back to Sam. "That shit made you loopy. But it didn't even make your leg stop hurting?"

"I'm not loopy," Sam protests, frowning a little at Ryan. Is he?

"Oh. My mistake." Ryan shoots Sherry a crooked grin over his shoulder, waiting for her to leave the room before he speaks again. "I'm not going to be able to hold your hand while the doc sews you up," he tells his lover, and he's only halfway teasing.

Sam blows out a breath. Fuck, he hates this. All of this. He shakes his head, keeping his bitterness to himself. "I wonder if Citadel has surgeons on call," he murmurs.

"Of course they do. Who else could people trust for all those completely insane body modifications?" Ryan murmurs, grinning a little. "They probably wouldn't know what to do with you, though. Too normal." He glances up once more to make sure they're not overheard - there are people milling around in the corridor just outside Sam's room, but none close enough to listen in - and murmurs to his lover, "I'm going to baby the hell out of you when we get home. Promise." As in, more than make up for every instant of time right now when they're not able to touch each other.

Sam nods. "You could lock the door and baby the hell out of me right now," he teases but his heart's not quite in it. All he really wants to do is sleep, preferably wrapped around Ryan, and wake up with this all fucking done with.

"Mmm. I think it might hurt for you to bend your legs right now," Ryan whispers. "And how else am I supposed to get my tongue on your balls?" His smile is mischievous, but he's still tense underneath; Percocet or no, Sam clearly doesn't feel right. And it drives Ryan crazy to not be able to fix that for his sir.

Sam laughs but fuck, he wants to touch Ryan so badly... just hold his hands, touch his fingers. Anything. His eyes sting, threatening tears and he rubs the back of his arm over his face, brushing them away. "Maybe the meds are kicking in," he says. "You mind if I close my eyes?"

"No, of course not," Ryan says with a shake of his head. He glances at the door again, then leans over the bed and smoothes the sheets over his lover, to conceal how he briefly reaches down and squeezes Sam's hand. "You do what you need to," he whispers. "I'll be right here with you, baby." He links his fingers with his lover's one last time, then sits back in his chair, putting a careful distance between them again.

Time passes and Ryan ignores it. He fiddles with his phone, trying to cover for his real actions, which pretty much consist solely of watching Sam. At least he tries to be discreet about it.

He looks up when a tall man in green surgical scrubs knocks on the door.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Garber," he says, stepping into the room and holding out his hand. "They flew me in to take care of Sam."

Ryan gets to his feet and shakes the doctor's hand. "Hi, I'm Ryan Kwanten; I'm Sam's personal assistant. Sam is..." He gestures at his lover, who appears to have succumbed to the combination of exhaustion, pain, and narcotics. "Asleep, I guess. He wasn't feeling so great."

"I can imagine," Dr. Garber says. "Are you planning on staying with him while we do this?" he asks.

"Ah, yeah, if that's all right," Ryan says, trying to make sure he hovers at a distance. "Just so he has someone to curse at other than you."

Dr. Garber laughs. "Okay, well, we'll get things set up if you want to wake him. He'll probably react better to you doing it than us," he says, going to fetch the nurse.

Ryan watches the doctor leave, then leans over Sam's bed. "Hey," he whispers, giving his lover's shoulder a gentle shake. "Sam. The doctor's here."

Sam startles, eyes flashing open, huffing out a breath as he half sits up and then collapses back against the bed. "What?"

"Hey, shh. Shh," Ryan tells him, alarmed. He lays his hand reassuringly on Sam's shoulder once more. "It's just me. The doc should be back in a second to fix your leg. Okay?"

Sam nods, looking up at Ryan. He tilts his head, pressing his cheek against Ryan's hand just for a moment. "What time is it?"

"Um." Ryan shakes himself a little, trying not to get distracted. "Almost eleven," he answers, checking his watch. "How's your pain level?" he asks, drawing his hand back. "Do you need more medicine?"

"Hi there," a nurse says brightly, entering the room. "Mr. Worthington? I've got your tetanus shot here. Are you allergic to anything?"

Sam shakes his head. "Not that I know of," he says softly, before turning back to Ryan. "I think it's mostly worn off. But won't they give me something when they sew me up?"

"They'll inject your wound with lidocaine," the nurse answers, coming around the bed to stand at Sam's other side. "This is a small shot so it can go in your shoulder," she says, tearing open an alcohol wipe and cleaning his skin. "And I can give you some more painkillers in a minute if you'd like."

Ryan winces at the bite of the needle. God, he really needs to detach from this somehow. He's just not used to seeing his lover so vulnerable.

"Sure," Sam says, blowing out a breath. He fucking hates needles when it's not in scene. He grits his teeth against the sting and works to keep his stomach from rolling hard. "Yes, please."

She drops the needle into a sharps container and exits the room. Ryan is just making an instinctive reach for Sam's hand when Dr. Garber comes back in. And then Ryan tries to get the hell out of the way again. 

"Hi, Sam. I'm Dr. Garber," he says, holding out his hand as the nurse comes back into the room with a tray of instruments. "I'm going to be taking care of your leg today."

Sam nods and shakes the doctor's hand. "Good to meet you," he says.

"But not really, yes?" Dr. Garber responds with a smile, taking a seat on a stool and pulling it in close to the bed. "Let's take a look at this," he says, pulling back the sheet and unwrapping Sam's thigh.

 _Jesus_. Ryan blanches. Okay, it looks a lot worse than he was expecting. He quickly tries to get his reaction under control.

Sam shifts onto his side, letting the doctor have a better look at things. One look at Ryan's face makes him feel guilty as hell though. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to," he offers.

"What?" Ryan looks at his lover's face in confusion. "Of course I'll stay," he murmurs, surprised that Sam would think otherwise for even a moment. Fuck, he wishes he could hold his lover's hand during this. He glances at the doctor, a little nervous as usual that he's giving himself away. Giving away Sam's secrets. 

"Okay. Cold," Dr. Garber warns, setting a towel in place beneath Sam's thigh and then breaking the seal on an antiseptic sponge. If he thinks he might be picking up on some sort of unexpected vibe between the two men, well... It's certainly not his place to comment.

Sam grunts a little, wincing as the doctor's word proves true. Fuck. "You ever needed stitches for anything?" he asks Ryan, trying to keep his mind off what's going on.

"Fuck, yeah. Thousands of times." Dr. Garber has taken his seat on a rolling stool, so Ryan pulls up a chair to the bedside. 

"I've broken every single knuckle on this hand," he adds, holding up his right hand. "I even had to have surgery once because I messed up the bones in my wrist so bad."

"Extreme sports?" the doctor asks, taking a guess. "This'll burn before it gets numb," he warns his patient, and begins to inject lidocaine into Sam's wound.

"That, too," Ryan murmurs, and the doc chuckles. "But that time it was actually from boxing." Fuck, he hopes their chatter will distract Sam a bit.

Sam closes his eyes, gritting his teeth again, a pained sound escaping despite his best efforts. "Fuck," he mutters, blowing out a breath. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"Is it getting numb yet?" Ryan asks hopefully. Which is a stupid question; Sam is very obviously getting hurt with every new stick of the needle.

Sam shakes his head. "Burns," he grits out, hands clenching into fists as he fights to ride out the pain.

"Almost done with this part," the nurse assures him, coming back into the room with a small plastic pill cup. "This is different from what you had before, so it's safe to take it now," she explains, handing Sam the pills and then holding out a cup of water with a straw.

All that, Ryan approves of. But when she strokes a lock of hair off Sam's forehead, he has to turn away so no one will see him gritting his teeth.

Fuck that feels weird. His leg's finally gone numb but there's this pressure and tugging as the doctor sews. "Is it gonna leave a scar?" he asks, not really caring, but it seems like something he should ask.

"You might have a very very faint one, yes," Dr. Garber admits, looping the nylon silk for another stitch. "Nothing that a film camera will ever pick up unless they're trying to focus on your pores. That's why your management flew me in." Yeah, there's a touch of smugness there.

Ryan smiles faintly at his lover. He's tempted to make a joke about the prospect of Sam filming naked extreme close-ups. But no, he really needs to keep control of his mouth right now, no matter how much his nerves are jittering. "Are you going to be able to stick around till tomorrow?" he asks the doctor instead. "Enjoy the countryside? It blows me away how gorgeous it is out here."

"Countryside?" Dr. Garber snorts a laugh. "I'm from Montana. Connecticut seems positively metropolitan to me." He holds out his gloved hand, and the nurse drops another loop of sterile silk into his palm. "You're going to need to take it easy for a few weeks," he tells Sam. "You can work, yeah, but nothing too physical, or you'll risk yanking out your stitches. And then you _will_ have a scar, plus a lot more pain."

Sam snorts a laugh. "You'd better tell my director that."

"I will," the doc promises. "I'll write you a doctor's note and everything." He places a few more stitches, then shifts the drape so Sam can see. "All done. Want to take a look?"

"Yeah." Sam twists a little, looking down at the back of his thigh. "It looks good," he says, noting how nice and neat the stitches are. He can already tell it'll heal cleanly which is a real fucking relief. For his career anyway. "What d'you think?" he asks Ryan.

Ryan looks at him in surprise. What does he think? He thinks it looks creepy as all hell, that long row of tiny black stitches marring Sam's skin; it doesn't matter how many times he's seen them on himself. "Yeah, fine," he says with a shrug, then looks at Dr. Garber. "When should he get them pulled out?"

"Ten days," the doctor answers, carefully collecting all his sharps and then tossing his sterile gloves. "And you can just come back here to the ER for that, there's no need for a special appointment or anything. I'll write you a few prescriptions, for antibiotics and painkillers, and your nurse will talk with you about signs of infection to be alert for, how to care for the wound, and all that." He holds out his hand to Sam. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Worthington."

"Pleasure to meet you too," Sam says, shaking Dr. Garber's hand. "Thanks for your work."

The doc shakes Ryan's hand, too - although Ryan really isn't certain why - and walks out, making room for the nurse. She carefully wraps Sam's thigh with bandages and gauze, talking all the while about danger signs to look out for, how to take his medications, how he should rest his leg and blah blah blah. Ryan knows he should be listening carefully, knows it's his fucking job right now, really. But all he can think of is that they're _this close_ to busting out of there and into some privacy, so he can finally take Sam into his arms.

Sam nods. He thinks he's got most of what she's said. "Does that mean we can go now?" he asks.

"Sure. One of our patient care techs is just bringing a wheelchair for you," she says, and flourishes a clipboard with a stack of papers. "Just sign right here..."

Sam signs, his skin almost itching in his desire to go home, hell, be home _right now_. The guy comes in with the wheelchair and he eases himself into it with his help, feeling like fucking invalid.

Ryan stands back while Sam gets settled, and collects all the assorted papers and prescriptions. "Is there a 24-hour pharmacy nearby?" he asks, and gets that information as well along with directions. Good thing Sam opted for GPS on their rental car.

He pulls the car around to the ER's entrance and the tech rolls Sam out to meet him. It's full dark now, a chill in the New England air, and god, Ryan is just ready for this night to be over.

Sam eases into the passenger seat with a wince, despite the painkillers, thanking the tech for his help and ever fucking grateful when the guys steps away, closing the door behind him, left with no one to pretend for anymore. He leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes, completely wiped out, feeling the pain slowly mellow again.

The pharmacy has a drive-thru - heaven be praised - and Ryan glances worriedly at Sam as they wait for the prescriptions to be filled. "You should probably sleep downstairs tonight," he says, trying to think ahead and plan for any potential obstacles. "I'll make up one of the guest bedrooms, and then you won't have to worry about climbing the stairs. And you're not going in to the set tomorrow -- they know that already, right? I'll check with Sherry." He pulls out his cell phone.

"They know," Sam says, opening his eyes and turning his head towards Ryan. "They're not expecting me in til Monday." He shifts, already uncomfortable from not moving for so long. "You're gonna sleep with me downstairs, yeah?"

Ryan makes frantic one-handed shushing motions at Sam, and hangs up just as he hears Sherry's voice come on the line. "Yes, of course I'm going to sleep with you," he whispers, so fucking on edge after everything this evening. Dragging a hand through his hair, he blows out a breath. The pharmacy tech chooses that moment to come back to the window, and Ryan hands over his credit card, then smiles and nods through the woman's instructions. "Got it. Thanks," he says, and burns rubber on their rental pulling out of the parking lot.

"You okay?" Sam asks, reaching over to touch Ryan's leg.

"Yeah." Ryan looks away from the moonlit mountain road to give his lover a quick smile of reassurance. "Just want to get you home. It bothers me that you're hurt and I couldn't help." Bothers him, hell -- he felt downright helpless sitting there, watching Sam suffer.

Sam smiles. "You're not supposed to help. You're just supposed to be there and you were," he murmurs, closing his eyes again.

 _I'll always be there_ , Ryan thinks, glancing at Sam once more, but he doesn't speak the words aloud. Exhaustion and pain and narcotics, and then unwelcome needles on top of it all? He knows Sam needs to rest.

///

Sam startles when the car stops, his eyes flashing open, his heart in his throat, one hand reaching out for the dash. "Where--?"

"Hush, you're all right. We're home, love," Ryan quickly assures him, and lightly lays his hand on Sam's shoulder. "It's okay."

Sam nods, licking his lips, steadily becoming more aware of his surroundings, his lover. "I think I might need your help getting in."

"Yeah, of course." Ryan kills the engine and circles the car, popping the trunk before he opens Sam's door. "Remember, we've also got this," he says, holding up the orthopedic cane the tech gave them before they left. He's got no idea whether Sam will even accept the thing for a few days, but he figures it's worth a try.

"I can't handle trying to use that thing right now," Sam says, just barely resisting the urge to make a face at the sight of it. Fuck.

"Okay." It's not unexpected. Ryan sets the cane aside by the garage wall, then leans in to slip an arm behind Sam's shoulders. "I've got you. Can you put most of your weight on your other leg?"

Sam nods, wincing as he pushes himself to his feet, arm wrapped around his lover's neck, trying not to lean too hard on Ryan. " _Fuck!_ "

"Be careful. You don't want to pull out your stitches. And it'll probably throb like fuck when the meds wear off, but that's just for tonight, and..." Ryan hears himself yammering, and he's pretty sure it's pointless. Likely Sam already knows all this stuff, plus the last thing he needs right now is to be lectured. It's just another sign of how shaken Ryan is, and he's trying to organize all the facts in neat little boxes so that he can attempt to forget about the emotional wallop. "Here. Lie back on the couch and I'll run and get the bed made. And _no alcohol_ ," he insists, easing Sam back on the sofa and then dashing upstairs to the linen closet.

No fucking alcohol. That's about the worse thing yet, Sam thinks, taking another look at his leg which looks like fucking Frankenstein. "You sure I can't have something?" he asks Ryan when his lover returns. "It's not like I'm going to be driving any heavy machinery."

Ryan frowns at him over the stack of sheets and blankets he's carrying. "One drink," he decides, figuring that'll be safe enough, since Sam is going straight to bed and Ryan will be right there to keep an eye on him. "I'll get it. You stay there."

He makes up the bed quickly, then goes into the kitchen and pulls open one of the lower cabinets. They don't drink all that much hard liquor - more than likely, it's just beer - so when Ryan goes shopping, he buys the _good_ stuff. Grabbing a highball glass, he pours Sam two fingers of eighteen-year Macallan. And then he ducks back to pour one for himself.

Sam smiles his first real honest smile of the whole fucking day since the accident when he sees Ryan with that glass of scotch. He holds out his hand only to frown when Ryan tells him he has to get into bed first. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously," Ryan informs him. He sets both their glasses on the dresser in the guest room. "You think I'm going to fucking carry you all the way from the couch?" he calls back over his shoulder, giving the bed a critical eye. "All right, come on," he says, heading back into the living room to help Sam up again. "Do you need to piss?"

It's tempting to say no but Sam's not that stupid. "Yeah," he admits quietly, his arm slung around Ryan's neck again, his leg starting to throb something fierce.

"Okay." Ryan wraps his arm around Sam's waist, taking as much of his weight as he can without dragging his lover off his feet. He helps him into the bathroom adjoining the downstairs guest bedroom and supports Sam as he stands in front of the toilet.

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I think of you and pissplay," Sam murmurs, unable to help himself.

Ryan rolls his eyes and snickers softly. It's kind of a relief to hear Sam sounding a bit like his usual self. "Have you thought about it?" he asks, curious.

"Yeah," Sam nods, exhaling softly as his body fights him, fatigued, even though his bladder's almost painfully full.

"Hmm." Okay, that's definitely something they need to explore, at least in conversation. Ryan kisses Sam's nape. "Do you need me to shut up so you can concentrate?"

Sam shakes his head. "No. I like having you to talk to me, especially when we're not fucking censoring ourselves," he says, still resentful about the whole hospital thing.

"Hey, I'm just so damn grateful that Sherry even called me. Can you imagine if we weren't pretending I'm your assistant, and so she didn't have my number? There's no fucking way I would have even known you were hurt," Ryan replies softly, resting his forehead on Sam's shoulder for a moment. "I would have been freaking the fuck out all this time, worried sick that something was wrong when you just never came home tonight but didn't get in touch to say you'd be late." It's a major problem for gay couples the world over, he knows: in most places, the gay significant other is left completely out of the medical confidentiality loop.

Christ. "I didn't even think about that," Sam admits quietly. He finishes and twists towards the sink so he can quickly wash his hands before wrapping his arms around Ryan. "I'm so sorry for putting you through all of this shit."

"Yes, I completely blame you for any and all structural problems with the set," Ryan says, his tone dry. "Come on, love. Let's get you into bed." He helps Sam into the next room, helps him undress, and eases him down onto the clean sheets, then props up a few pillows so Sam can lean back against them. "And... here," he says, pushing the scotch into his lover's hand before dashing back upstairs to get himself ready for bed.

It's not what Sam meant. It's not just this fucking accident. It's everything. The incident in the store, the pretending to everyone, his ring on Ryan's finger without any sort of public acknowledgement... and now the accident. Not even being able to hold his lover's hand while he had his fucking leg stitched up. Sam swallows half his scotch in one gulp, relishing the burn.

Biting his lip when he comes back into the room and sees that Sam's glass is already almost empty, Ryan keeps his thoughts to himself. He flicks on a bedside lamp, then turns off the overhead lights before getting into bed with his lover, careful not to jar his injury. Taking a sip of his own drink, he then sets it aside and snuggles in close, putting an arm around Sam's middle.

"I love you so much," Sam whispers, burying his face in Ryan's hair.

"I love you," Ryan whispers back, beginning to relax for the first time in hours, albeit slowly. He can finally try and let go of some of the terror that's been riding him since he first spoke to Sherry. "I'm so fucking grateful you're okay. I mean, not hurt worse, anyway."

"Me too," Sam says. "And I'm so glad you were able to be there. I never even thought of that when we were setting you up as my P.A."

"Nah, neither did I," Ryan admits, caressing Sam's back. "It's a lot of shit I never thought of." He brushes his lips over his lover's. "How are you feeling right now? Do you think you'll be able to sleep?"

"I don't know," Sam says. "It's really starting to ache." Which has to be the fucking understatement of the year. "I can try though, if you're tired."

"No, love." Ryan's exhausted, but he'll fucking punish himself tomorrow if he falls asleep before Sam tonight. "I'm just trying to figure out what else I can do to make you comfortable."

"You could give me your mouth," Sam suggests with a small smile.

"Yeah?" Ryan's eyes light up. He's so thrilled that Sam would let him, at a time like this -- even more so that Sam would _want_ him to. Because worshiping Sam's body - with his mouth, his hands, all of himself - there's nothing else that makes him feel so perfectly right. For Ryan that act of worship assures his place within the vast complex universe. The rest of the planets can spin away in mad orbits, new stars can be born in violently destructive explosions, while aging stars drain slow death from the planets which had depended on them. Chaos and madness and insanity are so close to pressing in on their feeble human lives. But when Ryan slips down the bed - carefully, so as not to disturb Sam's injured leg - and closes his lips over the crown of Sam's cock, tasting sensitive glands and loving on him so tenderly, the Ryan feels perfectly at home, no matter where they are.

Sam watches Ryan through heavy-lids, gently combing his fingers through his lover's hair. "Feels good," he murmurs, which it does, but his body's slower to respond than usual, the throb of his leg almost impossible to ignore.

Ryan murmurs muffled approval, cupping Sam's balls and licking and sucking at the head of his cock, nibbling gently on the glans, then darting his tongue to lick right into the slit.

Usually by now Sam would already be struggling to hold back, resisting the urge to just shove in and _take_. But not tonight. Tonight his cock's just laying there, still barely half-hard, despite Ryan's ministrations.

It's a little strange, feeling his lover's cock so limp between his lips. Given that Sam is pre-orgasm, not post, right now -- this is something that Ryan has pretty much never experienced. But it doesn't deter him, not for a second. He loves the taste of his lover's cock, loves the satiny feel of his skin, and Ryan sucks on Sam's length with a soft moan, working up and down the shaft.

Sam curses softly under his breath, struggling to move past the pain of his leg and into the pleasure that's there, right there, if only he could reach it.

Usually when Sam swears during sex, Ryan figures he must be doing something right. In this moment, though... He pulls off with a careful scrape of teeth over the crown, and licks Sam's cock up and down, looking up at his lover's face.

Fuck. "Sorry," Sam whispers, closing his eyes, too fucking humiliated to meet Ryan's gaze. He didn't think he could feel any worse than he already did but it looks like he was wrong.

"For what?" Ryan whispers back. He wants to keep going - is so damn set against giving up - but right now Sam looks... _Fuck_. Sam looks like he isn't even capable of enjoying it at this moment. "Hey," Ryan murmurs, crawling up the bed to take his lover into his arms. "It's okay. Don't be sorry."

Sam just shakes his head. "I've never..." Christ. He gestures in that direction. He's pretty sure Ryan knows that but still.

"Baby." Ryan presses a kiss to Sam's forehead. He knows it's an endearment that Sam has never been thrilled with, but at times like this, times when Ryan just wants to cuddle Sam and make the whole world go away, it's a word that simply slips out. "I know that. And I need you to cut yourself a break right now. These are not normal circumstances."

Shit. Sam presses in closer, wrapping his arm around Ryan and hugging him tight. "This whole fucking day..." Keeping his eyes shut tight against the hot tears welling behind his lids.

"It sucked." Simple truth. "I know, love," Ryan murmurs. "Tomorrow will be better. You'll take your meds, take it easy, and I'll be right here to help you. We'll get through all this, no problem."

Sam nods. "I know," he whispers, exhaustion suddenly hitting him so hard. Like the proverbial ton of bricks. "Thank you." He slips down the pillow a little more, his arm still around Ryan even though his leg's bitching about the position. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he mumbles.

One corner of Ryan's mouth quirks into a smile, and he sits up to gently arrange a supporting pillow beneath Sam's injured leg. "You'll never have to find out," he promises, turning off the bedside light before taking his lover into his arms once more.


End file.
